[ensonar]

the night fell upon open wounds of empty summer plums. Tumbling down the melancholy hole of tragic and floundering happiness, it wandered in to a hairline fracture among the many silly sad flappers who try tirelessly to open the crack between sanity and madness. Sucking on grapeskin is better than...

[BratscheWarrior]

a beaver trying to build a damn smack dab in the middle of your forehead! But enough of that ridiculous speculation that threatens to overload you mind. Is it fate that seems to divert attention from cherry picking in order to eat whales? Or is it a sense of chance. The chance to buy a litter box where small pups can grow up in a less stinky environment? No. It is the chance for a small push to alter the course of history so that little Felix, the mastermind of the Great Folk Song Revival of 2033 can grow up to become the greatest pastry chef in the galaxy, not to mention the worst guitarist known to man. But to the Amiablites, he was their hero. They did not notice his irregularities such as...

[Nick]

pouting in front of a mirror image of an image that he imagined was an image of his own image pouting back from his bedroom walrus. "Thats cool" he whispered in braille, causing ripples of sound to silently wash over the sleeping form of...

[ensonar]

lighthearted turbulent fairground screams, children's delictate nightmare schemes. Blasting through rock walls is less easy that swimming through sand or milling through the maze of walls and other blockades. Clutching the heart tightly isn't nearly as pleasing as caressing it, enticing it...

[BratscheWarrior]

to swoon like a crooner wearing an all black suit. Or a robber robbing a train. Or a pig eating his grease. Or a mustache growing like a weed. Or a bagel rolling in a ball. Or a cup of coffee throwing itself on a ...

[Nick]

antique clowns nose once used by the well known anonymous pilchard of the Raj. If only I could remember what I never knew then I just may be able to forget the future and...

[BratscheWarrior]

EAT EAT EAT!!!! 'cos that's all i wanna do. All kinds of food. Blood oranges, pasta, egg foo young, ink blots, kittens, omega 3 fatty acids, muscles, tendons, ligaments, logs, fogs, nogs, wogs, FLOGS!!!! He came up the subway stairs, spraypainting something on the wall. He started writing his name: F L Y H I S M X E E R. But he was tapped on the back by...

[ensonar]

a nut crape. A vaudeville cape, mining lakes of untrustworthyness. Eponymously enchanting the vascular symphony of belching timberchards, knotted vineyards and scarred butter cars. Bloated beyond recognition...

[BratscheWarrior]

our hero unceremoniously listened to a song. Harps played, strings tremoloed, and all was right in the world...

[BratscheWarrior]

and he became sad. What would he do? He simply did not have the money to buy a forticating octopus. Why could they simply not give him what he needed when all he wanted to do was better himself. What COULD he do? The only thing he could do was get over it. Find another way. He swirled his stew in a beaker he kept by his bed. He opened the window and YELLED " .....